the plate

my fall from grace occurred gradually and by and large, without incident. i can’t point to one specific event.

Actually, now that I think about it, there may have been one incident. i think the year was 2000. i seem to remember breaking a kitchen plate with the remains of a candle stuck to it, slamming it against a tree and tossing the shards into the Mississippi River from a levee in New Orleans.

It was late at night, pitch black. there were ghostly chants of some kind in the distant woods… and drumming, too. i was overcome by panic and ran out of there as fast as my feet would carry me (not very fast).

When I returned to the kitchen, I tried to brush it off. It felt comforting, as if order was restored. A mere hour later, I was perplexed when i noticed that one plate was missing from the dish rack. I thought someone must have broken into my home.

And i never gave it another thought until now. I guess that’s why I don’t live there anymore.

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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